


Wordplay

by fenwitch



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Banter, Bickering, F/M, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-02 06:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenwitch/pseuds/fenwitch
Summary: In which Nesta and Cassian have an encounter in the library, ancient Illyrian poetry is read, and barbed words are exchanged.





	1. Chapter 1

Cassian wanders into the library one afternoon, as he seems to so often do these days. He finds Nesta, curled up on her favorite chair, the honeyed light slanting over her neck and limning her hair with gold. Nesta doesn’t make any indication that she’s noticed him. So, Cassian wanders down an aisle, whistling idly, and slips a book off the shelf. Eventually her circles back to Nesta, and leans against a bookcase, watching her.

“You’re staring,” she says after a time, keeping her eye on the page.

“Can’t help it,” Cassian replies.

“The amount of control you exercise over yourself is astonishing,” says Nesta.

“You won’t believe how much control I’m exercising right now,” says Cassian as his eyes chart a lazy path over her form.

Nesta gives a snort and looks up. “Do you have any other mode of communication aside from innuendo?”

“I have more physical forms, if you’d like—”

Cassian is cut short as Nesta chucks the pillow from her seat toward his head. He catches it before it hits his face, giving a small laugh.

“Was there any particular reason you came up to the library, other than to bother me?”

“I actually had no idea you were up here, I merely came in to peruse some books of poetry.”

Nesta arches an eyebrow. “I didn’t know that some war-mongering brute could take pleasure in _perusing_ poetry.”

“I can take pleasure in a great many things,” says Cassian.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t know pleasure unless your cock were stuck in it,” Nesta says smoothly.

“Ah, but you’ve forgotten my tongue,” Cassian says as he walks over to a velvet chaise and sprawls across it, looking very much like a lounging jungle cat. “I’ve been told my tongue is very skilled at a great many things.”

“Your tongue is so slow, your prick would have time to recover before it delivered a rejoinder,” she says. The late afternoon light strikes her eyes turning them bright like illuminated seraphinite.

“You certainly know a lot about pleasure for someone untouched,” Cassian says, running a finger down the spine of the book in his hand.

“You certainly know how to provoke displeasure for one supposedly well-versed in its opposite,” says Nesta, tracking the movement of his finger.

“If I knew that look in your eye, I’d say you were finding this banter pleasurable.”

“I think I would find bashing my head into a wall repeatedly more pleasant.” Nesta snaps her book shut.

The air simmers between them. Cassian hears her pulse beating a steady, rapid rhythm, like a small bird, in the hollow of her throat.

“What are you reading?” Cassian offers, a truce.

“A book,” she says. “What are you pretending to read?”

“An ancient Illyrian epic,” Cassian says.

Nesta cocks her head, a soft emotion flitting across her face. “Read some to me,” Nesta says. A command.

Cassian smiles and obliges, tucking an arm behind his head and opening to the first page. He begins to read, voice low and steady.

“O let me sing of my _kundal ek-dain_ :

She came to me a summer storm  
Her hair like darkened cloud  
Her eyes met mine, her net was cast  
In the wind-turn time of Illyria

I followed her from Helbodor  
She did lead me astray  
I went to some land far and strange  
Across the peaks of Illyria

I knocked on doors in search of her  
I asked those near and wide  
To where does my lost soul depart?  
Far from those peaks Illyria

O soul that does move with her  
That dances with her gale  
My bride does carry me aloft  
My wings are but her sail.  
And still I wander deep and wide  
Away from the peaks of Illyria.”

Cassian pauses and looks up to find Nesta’s gaze upon him, chest rising and falling over the bodice of her dress. She blinks, as if waking from a dream.

“Is that all?” she asks.

“There’s an entire volume of it,” Cassian says. “The _Kundal ek-Dain_.”

“What does that mean?”

“‘Map to my Beloved.’ It’s a story of an Illyrian in search of his lost love.”

“Does he ever find his lover again?” Nesta asks.

“You’ll have to read to find out,” Cassian grins, standing up and stretching before walking loose-limbed over to her chair. He proffers the book, but before handing it over, pauses. “I have a proposition,” Cassian says.

“No.”

“Hear me out. How about we swap books?”

Nesta’s face turns a faint pink.

“Is something wrong?” Cassian asks innocently.

“No,” Nesta snaps. “But that’s a little presumptuous of you. Books are…,” Nesta searches for the word, “…personal.” She shifts in her chair.

“I had no idea book-swapping was considered an intimate activity,” Cassian replies, grinning wolfishly.

Then, before Nesta has time to react, Cassian swipes the book from her lap, and deposits the volume of _Kundal ek-Dain_ in its stead.

“Give that back, you bastard,” she snarls, jumping to her feet, hands fisted at her sides. The energy rolling off her is a thrumming, acidic snap, and the bookshelves begin shuddering, as if an earthquake is rumbling beneath the library.

“Not unless you’re nice,” Cassian says. Nesta tries to reach for the book, but Cassian, who towers over her, pulls it far out of reach with a, _tsk tsk_.

He holds the book aloft and begins to read aloud, “ _Passionate Encounters: The Travails of Distresa the Lady of the Night_.” Cassian looks down and sees Nesta is flushed from her face down to the tops of her breasts peeking from the bodice of her dress.

He opens it to a random page, and begins reciting, “‘Lord Valerie feasted his eyes upon the creamy globes of Distresa, nipples pink and peaked beneath the thin cotton of her white shift…’” he raises his brows.

“I think you would shut up if you value your tongue.” Nesta’s voice is sweet murder.

“I would come up with something witty to say,” Cassian replies, “but I’m afraid my prick is still recovering from that _ravishing_ description of Distresa’s, ‘creamy globes’…and my tongue, I’ve heard, is even slower in its rejoinders.” He smirks. She glares back, and Cassian can feel power humming beneath her skin, a scent like nootka rose. It awakens the energy in his siphons like a siren song.

Books begin falling off the shelves with a definitive, papery smacks, and fear crosses over Nesta’s face, fleeting. And then suddenly, her energy cuts off.

“Leave. Now.” Nesta says flatly.

Cassian examines her, searching for that deep well of power. But it’s left without a trace, as if dried up. Or blocked behind a dam.

“Was there something not clear about what I said?” Nesta grinds out.

“Your instructions were crystal, sweetheart.” Cassian ends his probing and makes for the door. “Enjoy your book,” he calls over his shoulder. “I know I’ll enjoy mine.” He waves the volume of Distresa’s exploits above his head. “And, by the way, any time you want to start training…” he trails off.

“You’re an ass.”

“Liking the view?” Cassian asks.

“Yes. You, leaving.”

Nesta bends down to pick up the _Kundal ek-Dain_ where it fell from her lap, and opens to find the text written in choppy, foreign script. “I can’t read Illyrian!” she yells after him.

“I guess you’ll need a teacher then,” Cassian calls back to her. He can feel her eyes shooting daggers into his back as the library doors shut behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which words fly and innuendo simmers between Nesta and Cassian in scene two of the library banter, and other characters make their first appearances.

It’s a little over a week later when Cassian seeks out Nesta in the library again to find her sitting at the reading table.

 

“Done.” Cassian slides the copy of _Passionate Encounters_  in front of Nesta.

 

She looks up briefly from her book, and back down again. “If you’re done, you can leave,” Nesta says, turning a page.

 

“What, I get no commendation?” Cassian asks, settling into the chair across from her.

 

“Congratulations, you can read chapter books.”

 

“How about a prize?” Cassian asks. 

 

“How about you leave me alone, or I kick you in the groin and then you leave me alone,” Nesta says. 

 

“I don’t think I like either of those options.”

 

“Well, then I’m afraid you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place.” 

 

“Is that an option, having you between a rock and a hard place?” 

 

“Leave,” she says flatly, pointing to the door.

 

“To be fair, that line worked for Lord Valerie. If I recall correctly, it led to that scene where Distresa is engaged simultaneously between himself and his friend…you know the one I’m talking about—” 

 

“Do you have balls for a brain?” Nesta cuts in.

 

“Wouldn’t that mean I have two brains, then? I’d hardly find that insulting,”

 

“Perhaps because you only think when you’re hard.”

 

Cassian tips back in his chair and roars with laughter. “You’re a delight Nesta, has anyone ever told you that?”

 

The corner of Nesta’s mouth twitches, but she does not reply. Silence falls between them as she turns back to her book. Cassian drums his fingers on the table, leaning on the back two legs of his chair like a restless schoolboy. 

 

“You should train with me,” he says. 

 

“No.”

 

“Why not?“

 

“Amren is training me,” Nesta says.

 

“And what has she taught you?” Cassian crosses his arms over his chest.

 

“Many things,” she replies, idly scribbling a note on a bit of paper.

 

Cassian, who has never before felt he needed to compete with a book for a woman’s attention, drops the legs of the chair and stands up, sauntering around the table to Nesta’s side.

 

“Wonderful, now the bat decides to start looming,” Nesta growls, dropping her pen to glare at him. Cassian’s eyes dance with humor. She shuts her book and clutches it to her chest as she stands up, making to leave.

 

“Move,” Nesta says. But Cassian’s wall of a chest remains solidly in her line of vision. He senses it again, that destructive energy wrinkling the air around her like an impending storm. 

 

“Tell me, what has taught Amren taught you so far?” he says, cocking his head to the side. Her energy jumps in ragged beats. Nesta meets his eyes, and something in her stance changes, a glint, a curl of her lip, that smell of nootka rose again that hooks into him.

 

“You want to know what I’ve learned?” Nesta tips her chin up to him. 

 

“Tell me, sweetheart,” Cassian says, drawing closer. 

 

“I’ve learned to find the soft parts of a man,” she says, teeth bared in a venomous grin. 

 

“If he’s soft you’re doing something wrong,” Cassian replies, eyes dancing with humor. 

 

“I’d call that his failure to rise to the occasion.”

 

“Spar with me, I assure you I will rise above your expectations.”

 

“I think I’d find your swordplay dull.”  


 

“A dull sword can be remedied with a whetstone.”

 

“If your blade were twice as sharp as your wit it would still be dull.”

 

“Your wit won’t help you parry when you’re engaged with a blade.”

 

“I have no interest in disengaging the blade of a lackluster opponent.”

 

“I think you’ll find me far from lacking in any sort of luster.”

 

“I’ll concede what you lack in luster you make up for in lust.” 

 

A throat clears. Nesta and Cassian jump apart and turn their heads in unison. They find Elaine and Azriel framed in the entrance of the library, the latter with several books tucked under his arm and the closest approximation of exasperation one could ever expect find on the shadowsinger’s face.

 

“Whatever are you two talking about?” Elaine’s voice rings out, clear as a bell. Nesta starts at how direct her voice is, how similar it sounds to the old Elaine.

 

“Cocks, my dear,” comes the reply. Amren strolls into the room, a small smile playing over her lips. “His cock, in particular, I’m afraid,” she says as she tips her head in Cassian’s direction. 

 

“When Cassian can’t use his own hand, he needs others to stroke his ego,” Nesta hisses, keeping her eyes locked with his the entire time. 

 

“Ha!” The exclamation bursts from Elaine’s mouth and hovers in the room like some strange, winged creature. Everyone turns their head toward her. Azriel (who was previously pinching the bridge of his nose) looks as if he’s never seen her properly before. Amren looks guarded. Cassian, shocked. Nesta, concerned. And the sound escapes again, developing into a full, girlish giggle. Color rises to Elaine’s cheeks as she looks between Cassian and her sister. Nesta waits with bated breath, half-expecting gibberish and prophecy to tumble from her lips. 

 

Instead, Elaine looks to Azriel and says, “I think I would like to study outside, it is very nice out and I would like some sun.” Azriel nods, the shadows around him subdued and his face bemused, as he opens the door for Elaine. They make their exit. 

 

Amren watches them go, a canny expression on her face. “Are you two done bickering, then?”

 

“Not yet, I think Nesta was just in the middle of talking about…‘stroking my ego,’ was it?”

 

Amren gives a snort. “Get off in your room, Cassian, and stop harassing Nesta. The girl has work to do.”

 

Cassian raises his arms in mock defeat and wheels around toward the library doors. “Anytime you want to do this again in the library…” he calls out to Nesta.

 

“ _Go fly yourself_ ,” Nesta says through gritted teeth.

 

Cassian flashes roguish smile and saunters out.

 

Nesta breathes out a deep sigh and tries to compose herself. Then she scents something, a musty bitterness in the air. 

 

Amren’s face hardens as she gently removes Nesta’s hands from the book still clutched to her chest. Underneath, where her fists rested, the cover is scorched, nearly burnt away. 

 

Nesta turns pale. “Sometimes I just want to punch that stupid smirk off his face.”

 

Amren looks up, mouth twisting, and places a hand on her hip. “Poor choice of method, but Cassian makes his point. Your opportunity to deck the bastard will come sooner than you think.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You need to start training with him,” Amren says. “As soon as possible.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, as always <3 
> 
> Stay tuned for more scenes that are in-the-works.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed <3 
> 
> I aimed to write this as scene from a play or movie, therefore it's mostly focused on dialogue. 
> 
> All Illyrian words and phrases are my invention. I imagine the language sounding guttural, somewhat like Hebrew or Arabic.
> 
> The poem was inspired by the Song of Solomon. 
> 
> Glossary:
> 
>  _Kundal ek-Dain_ \- 'Map to my Beloved'


End file.
